
I have a confession to make. I am writing Sunday Morning Serenity on Saturday night because Sunday morning is going to be anything but serene. And in the interest of full disclosure, I think I should tell you that.
Here’s the lay of the land. This Sunday is Harvest Day, our church homecoming, and I had planned to make something really special for the fellowship hall. But I worked till 6 p.m. on a freelance story I had hoped to finish by noon. As a result, I will be taking “vaguely resembles homemade” mac and cheese to the fellowship hall. Hank the Cat is limping, and we can’t figure out why. Dave has a lingering cold, and we can’t figure out why. I have a sore shoulder, and we can’t figure out why. Mama lost the coconut cake our friend Sandra gave her—the one she has been making for at least a decade, probably two—and we can’t figure out why. I’m just “at sixes and sevens,” as an old saying goes, but I’m still . . . happy.
This week I had lunch with a very good friend from my Southern Living days and was reminded yet again of how lucky I am to have worked with so many amazing people—friends I still care about, still lean on, still look up to. And then this afternoon, I was grumbling to myself as I opened a package that I thought was filled with a boring maintenance drug from our mail-order pharmacy, but it was actually an incredibly thoughtful gift from another SL friend. “Mercy drops ’round us are falling . . .”
On top of all that, our special musical guests at church for Harvest Day will be the Gill family. Jimmy Gill and my uncle were high school buddies. That's the two of them, kneeling (center and far right), at the ground breaking for our church sanctuary around 1960.
I went to school with Jimmy’s kids—church, too, when we were all children—and grew up hearing them sing together. His sister Joyce sang in our church choir for years. (Daddy once said that if you ever encounter somebody who can't sing but claims to be a Gill, “you’d better check that DNA because something’s off.”:) They are such a talented and musical family, and I’m too excited about hearing them sing to worry about whether I’ll make a royal mess on the piano because I haven’t had much time to practice.
I’m not sure where all this is going. Or if I even have a point. But I will say that (1) if you’re anywhere near First Baptist Church of Harpersville on Sunday morning, a great service will be starting at 10:30, followed by great food whenever we’re done singing, and (2) you never know when you're being used to bless somebody else.
I still have a book of gospel songs that I bought because I heard Jimmy’s family sing from it back in the 70s. And that friend I had lunch with this week? He has no idea how many times I have repeated to myself the advice he has given me over the years. As for the friend who sent Dave and me the unexpected gift? He could never imagine how much we needed that happy pick-me-up this week—or how much I learned from him at the magazine.
You never know how many ripples roll out from any good thing you do, any wisdom you share, any kindness you show. You just never know.
Cast your bread upon the waters,
for you will find it after many days.
Ecclesiastes 11: 1
[Image by Geoffrey Whiteway @ Freerangestock.com}